


In These Holy Halls

by ZammyShad



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Sex, Catholic Guilt, Come as Lube, Face-Fucking, M/M, Questionable lube, Rough Oral Sex, Top Aymeric, anyway uhhh, halone is watching, sort of ??, z'ahzi kind of also being a repressed gay?, z'ahzi wanting aymeric to not be a repressed gay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25547191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZammyShad/pseuds/ZammyShad
Summary: He knows the rules. Z’ahzi, dressed in his all white armor, the seal of the democratic republic newly established sitting right over his heart, kneels in the wide, open hall of the cathedral. He was told to be in his best and he wouldneverdisappoint the Lord Commander. Not when he had so lovingly placed the silver hairpin around his ear, the blue earring now the same as Aymeric’s token gems themselves.A staple. A claim. A proclamation;He is under Ser Aymeric de Borel’s banner. He is not yours to touch.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light
Comments: 12
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

He knows the rules. Z’ahzi, dressed in his all white armor, the seal of the democratic republic newly established sitting right over his heart, kneels in the wide, open hall of the cathedral. He was told to be in his best and he would _ never  _ disappoint the Lord Commander. Not when he had so lovingly placed the silver hairpin around his ear, the blue earring now the same as Aymeric’s token gems themselves. 

A staple. A claim. A proclamation.  _ He is under Ser Aymeric de Borel’s banner. He is not yours to touch. _

The thought makes Z’ahzi shiver, head bowed low as the saints loom above him. He is on display for the Gods, ready for judgement from the Fury itself. Halone, his deity, has never left him bereft before, sticking to his side as the snow sticks to Ishgard’s cobblestone. He knows this is where he is meant to be, offered as a hero and painted as the lover the Commander was never allowed to have. Always in secrecy, always behind closed doors, now free to bloom and grow and shine like the Light Hydaylen had blessed him with.

Maybe that’s why Aymeric stands before him, his own regalia changed for the occasion. Blue and white and black mixed with the gold of the prophets, the bishops, the clergy. Z’ahzi can only see his boots, but the gold that’s reflected there is a marvel to look at. It winds upwards in a dragon's image, spiraling around the leather with its claws and maw morphing at the top. It’s tail trails downwards, wrapping around until it melds together into a golden band around the sole, the ( very high ) heel accented with two small wings.

He would never have noticed unless he was here, willing for his sacrament. 

Z’ahzi keeps his head down. Aymeric had told him before they began, gentle hands tender as they fixed his hair into place, holding his jaw in a means of comfort. “You cannot look up at me until I say so,” he began, softened eyes half-lidded. “Nor can you speak. When you take the goblet of wine, you will thank me before drinking. And when you do,” He had paused, leaning down so as to let lips barely brush his own, soft and inviting and tinted with gloss. “You will swallow.”   
  
“Z’ahzi Nunh,” Aymeric starts, voice boisterous and loud; the voice of a politician, strong in conviction and purpose. It brings him back to the present, willing the heat curling in his belly to leave so he may focus.  _ Please. _ “House Fortemps Knight and bringer of peace to the Dragonsong War, do you take unto thee the commitment to our congregation, our Saints, and the duty of Halonic worship?”   
  
He knows the words, has been reciting them for the past hour in his head. “I willingly submit myself to the Fury for judgement and clearance so that I may follow Halone and serve Ishgard as a member of Her clergy.”

Aymeric’s next words are shaky, barely restrained. “Then rise, Z’ahzi, and take your place at Halone’s side.”   
  
Golden eyes look upwards in awe and reverence as the light behind Aymeric shines in a halo’d ring around his head. It’s blinding, and Z’ahzi keeps his stare level. It isn’t until a shining goblet is offered before him that he snaps from the daze of his lover shrouded in light, hands outstretching to gracefully accept the wine. “Blessed thanks to you, Lord Commander.” The words taste sweet as Aymeric’s eyes darken. He breathes out, velvet and hitched, “ _ Drink. _ ”

Lips part around the cool metal, dark red wine flowing down his throat and settling heavy in his stomach. It’s warm, and the answering hum he gives is purposefully exaggerated, fingers curling over Aymeric’s own as he swallows mouthful after mouthful. The cup shakes, and Z’ahzi fears the other will drop it in his haste to be done with this, but the moment it tilts upwards and the last bit of wine touches his tongue, the Elezen tosses the goblet to the ground, the loud  _ clang _ ringing out in the ornate, vaulted halls. 

There is no pause after that, the Lord Commander’s hands pulling Z’ahzi up and close. He presses their bodies together as he half leans down and the Warrior of Light is pulled to bend knee; a Knight to his Lord, a servant to the Most Holy.

Lips meet hungry and hard, the taste of wine shared sweetly between them. Aymeric keeps Z’ahzi’s mouth open and busy, sweeping his tongue across each of his lips, top and bottom, and delving inside to lick at the roof of his mouth. The Miqo’te can’t keep up, hands frozen and body strung tight. Everything is on fire - his lips, his cheeks, his chest, his thighs. It curls like a vice around him, lighting up in his abdomen and setting nerves on edge. Aymeric isn’t backing off, the small moments in between bruising kisses used to breath raggedly, once, before stealing it away again. It’s all open-mouthed pants and the slick sound of lips and tongues, loud squelches as they desperately try to get closer, Aymeric intent on pulling Z’ahzi’s tongue down his own throat if he has to.   
  
“ _ Ah _ \- Aymeric.” He’s helpless to the growl that echoes against his lips, the hungry breaths puffing against his overheated skin. His armor feels too small, and his cock presses heavy and hard against the seam of his pants. “L-Lord Commander, I -”   
  
“Open up for me, Knight.”  _ Oh _ . Z’ahzi’s heart skips a beat. “I want to see your  _ dedication _ to your Commander.” 

Hands instantly reach to pull off his gauntlets, shucking the armor away so as to better feel the other. They latch to Aymeric’s belt and trousers, tugging desperately once, twice, three times before the buckle falls loose and Z’ahzi reverently falls back to his haunches, pulling Aymeric close by the back of his thighs, squeezing. 

Red, wet lips part, reverent and in awe. Aymeric mutters a soft, winded “Gods,” before a half-gloved hand reaches to pull down his own boxers, the other gripping the base of his cock.   
  
Z’ahzi’s mouth waters, hungry. Golden eyes look at the devastated, wrecked look on Aymeric’s face and decides he wants this man undone and let loose. He wants Halone to witness their sins, witness the culmination of want and love and everything Aymeric has been told was  _ wrong _ . He smirks. 

“Blessed thanks to you, Lord Commander.”  _ Halone take me. _

He swears he hears Aymeric pray as he swallows him down as easily as the wine.

His lover’s cock fills his mouth exactly as he wants it, hot and heavy and big enough to stretch his jaw. Soft, plush lips rub slightly raw against the Elezen’s skin, the subtle scent of sweat cloying his senses as they meet Aymeric’s dark black curls. Hands wrap around thighs with a vice-like grip, his throat spasming as the head hits the back a little too fast, too hard. Z’ahzi disregards it, forcing himself to open up and swallow once, twice. He can’t breathe, face growing hot and spit pooling at the tip of his tongue, collecting in the dip it makes as he tries to make room.

“Look at you,” Aymeric’s voice is wrecked beyond belief, cracking on the last word and damn near ragged with his breathing. Z’ahzi watches through blurry version as the Lord Commander sucks on his bottom lip, eyes wide and dark and full of so much  _ want  _ the Warrior of Light is sure he’ll drown in it. There’s no place he’d rather be, no one he’d rather be on his knees for, than the Elezen looking down at him in lust, in love, in  _ trust. _ When was the last time Aymeric was able to do this freely? When was the last time he could indulge in his own wants?

_ To hell with  _ _prayer._ He wants Aymeric to pray to  _ him  _ from now on.

A hand cups his jaw, stroking along his freckled cheek. The thumb, calloused and worn from the use of his sword, showing just how strong Aymeric really is - not just a pretty politician, as his appearance would have you believe - swipes up the stray tears Z’ahzi blinks away like they were something precious, special; a testament to his devotion in the face of this new religion of love.

The Miq’ote closes his eyes then, sliding off slowly before diving back in, the slick sounds muffled as he picks up speed. Aymeric gasps unbidden, hips rolling on the second bob of his head that quickly sends Z’ahzi moaning in surprise even as a wet, choked gurgle breaks from his throat. He has to pull off then, looking up through half-lidded eyes for confirmation, permission. Aymeric, to his absolute delight, had replaced the lip he had been biting red with his hand, his own cheeks stained a dark, deep rose. His dark brows are lifted upward just slightly, scrunched in the middle just so. He’s already lost to the feeling and his proud,  _ hungry _ knight feels heat blossom in his chest.

“You can do that, y’know.”  _ Fuck, _ his voice is strained and raw, aching and similar to the sound the salt rocks make when ground together. “Fuck my mouth. I know you want to _. I  _ want you to.”

The hand on his jaw grips tight, fingers pressing to the soft underside of his chin, fondly playing with the blonde hair there. Such gentle actions are nearly forgotten with the needy, winded “Gods above,” Aymeric  _ whimpers _ out flutters across the space between them. “I’ve never wanted anything more.” His demeanor changes instantly, the grip turning bruising as he presses forcefully against the hinge of the other’s jaw. “To have you, like this. To have your lips stretched around my cock in the halls of our Saints. You are divine; holy above all else and Gods, what would I do to show them all how  _ heavenly _ you really are.”   
  
Z’ahzi flushes hard under the praise, dick jumping in his pants. He can’t speak with his jaw pressed open, only groans appreciatively from the back of his raw throat, tongue lolling forward and dribbling spit across the ornate tiles. 

Aymeric breathes in sharply. He preens. _ I am your God now. _   
  
It’s only a matter of seconds before his Commander is guiding his cock back to his open, waiting mouth, wet and warm and starved for the taste of him. This time, when lips close around the head and tongue flicks against the thick drabbles of pre, Aymeric doesn’t stop himself from rolling forwards, hips smoothly thrusting in just an inch or two before backing off. Z’ahzi’s head feels light from it all, heart pounding in his chest as the speed picks up, jaw relaxing and throat opening as wide as he can to accept the length easing itself further in. Aymeric’s breathing grows heavy and loud, the sway of his armor echoing in the relative silence. It lulls the blonde into a trance, eyes closing once again to focus on the feeling of his lover thrusting into the back of his throat.

Faster now, Aymeric carding one hand through his hair, the other pressing against his cheek. His fingers tighten their hold simultaneously, twisting in his locks and tugging with every second that ticks by. Z’ahzi moans in encouragement, moans as Aymeric’s hips stutter, the muffled gags causing him to go faster, harder. The Miqo’te’s hands dig into the other’s thighs, eagerly leaning forward to take as much as he can, as hard as he can. “ _ Ahzi _ ,” Aymeric whines, so close now even as the Warrior grinds his own arousal into the seam of his pants. “Ahzi, Ahzi,  _ Ah-h-h- _ zi.”   
  
_ Come for me, _ he thinks, knees aching and throat spasming around the warm cock in his mouth.  _ Make a mess for Halone to see. _ _  
  
_

The other man spends like it’s dragged from him, cock pulsing thick ropes of cum down the slide of Z’ahzi’s throat. He swallows eagerly, hands clawing into the back of Aymeric’s thighs to get every last drop. The man above chokes on a gasp, hands now both tugging at blonde strands as if to say _ no, enough _ , even as he continues to cum. Z’ahzi’s throat tightens around his cock, greedy as he sucks down everything the Elezen is willing to give - and then some.  _ Halone, forgive me, _ he thinks, eyes opening as Aymeric grows soft and overstimulated, the last few weak pulses of his cock pitiful.  _ This man was never yours. _ The Miqo’te takes a moment to breathe, skin like a wildfire as dazed eyes look up to see the setting sun blossom behind the other’s head, saintly and divine in a veil of light.

A perfect devotee to his new form of Sacrament.  _ In this we pray. _

“Aymeric,” he whines, his own hard cock straining the stark white of his formal pants. The name comes out strained, breathy and light and breaking at the edges. “Commander, I need you.”   
  
A  _ clack _ as knees fall to the tiled floor, two roughened palms cupping the sides of his face before lips are stolen in a bruising kiss. Aymeric wastes no time in staking his claim, tongue pushing past already lax and swollen lips to lick away at the taste of himself still clinging to his tongue, his throat. Z’ahzi groans, soft hums that continue to fall off into nothing as Aymeric does all that he can to remove the evidence of his own sinful sacrifice.

Of his  _ sacrilege. _

When he’s laid out beneath him, tiles cold at his back as Knight’s regalia is tossed aside, the last thing he sees is the halo of light from before, falling in dappled rays across his body and the purple, black, yellow bruises Aymeric leaves behind, eyes shining with nothing but  _ want. _

_ Amen. _


	2. At The Hands Of God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Aymeric,” Z’ahzi repeats, legs spreading as far as they could, highlighting the mess sticking to the inside of his thighs. Another sharp breath, the creak of fabric as the other’s hands curl tightly into fists. The Miqo’te arches his back, thrusting his hips upwards while his hand reaches out, grasping towards the Elezen in a silent plea for more. “Come here.”

Aymeric’s mouth feels like fire against already heated skin, the cool tile at his back and the Ishgardian cold doing nothing to deter the flame in his gut. It burns like the candles that blaze on the altar, still yet unlit as the late evening sun falls in isolated rays across the cathedral. Z’ahzi’s desert-tanned skin exists as an outlier; a symbol of the  _ outside _ that has been long denied entrance to Ishgard’s inner sanctum. And as beige eyes stare upwards, surrounded by stained glass and holy-like statues, gaze following the high-vaulted ceilings, the Miqo’te feels what it must be like to be nothing less than  _ heaven-sent. _

A hand curls into Aymeric’s hair, grounding, even as the man himself continues to press sloppy kisses to his scarred skin, lapping with hungry tongue and biting with greedy teeth. He makes the wildest of noises, soft grunts and gasps with every open-mouthed kiss, blue eyes dark beneath heavy brows and tousled hair, and when Z’ahzi finally chances to look down his own body, neck straining to catch a glimpse, Aymeric is staring directly at him, the blatant want in his eyes consuming their color. Yet what captures his attention the most is his bruised, spit-slick lips clinging to his skin, unwilling to let it go unmarked despite the various bruises blooming across his neck, chest, and ribs; another testament to the scripture they write between their bodies, their teeth.

Z’ahzi was never a holy man. Aymeric, however, has been steeped in it. With how devout he may be in prayer, it’s no surprise he does the same now; a disciple turned to the snake in the garden.

He should feel bad, _ guilty _ , for pulling the Lord Commander into this world of his. Instead his fingers go white-knuckled in the inky black waves of Aymeric’s curls, the other’s pointed tongue flicking at the dusky bud of his nipple, the corner of his mouth twisted upwards in an open-mouthed smirk.

He’s taking his time, Z’ahzi realizes, head dropping back against the tile. Aymeric isn’t a man to anything by halves, that’s for sure, but with how fast and eager he had been moments before, cock shoved rough and tight down the Miqo’te’s throat, he had been sure this would be the last phrase of their sermon together.

He was wrong. He was so, so  _ wrong _ .

“Aymeric,” he says, his throat still cracked as it squeezes out the name. The other doesn’t so much as blink, languid as head shifts to the other side, teeth gently scraping the sensitive bud while still-gauntleted hand slinks upwards from his stomach, sliding through the sweat that pools in the creases of his muscles before settling at his chest, rolling the wet nub now free from his warm mouth between finger and thumb. Z’ahzi arches, cock standing upright and nudging against Aymeric’s armor, the cold touch forcing a hiccuping gasp from his overused throat. The cathedral’s air gently ghosts across his overheated skin, drawing the Miqo’te’s attention to the maddening warmth Aymeric radiates from his mouth, breath hot and heavy as it puffs against slick skin. It also, in an odd juxtaposition Z’ahzi can’t quite name, makes him self-conscious of the precome that dribbles from his cock, steady as it flows to his abdomen, sticking to the light curls.

His cock twitches again as Aymeric hums, satisfied, and presses a short, closed-lipped kiss to his nipple, breathless as he pulls away to gaze at the other, hungry and wanting and starved. 

Or maybe that’s Z’ahzi’s imagination, chest heaving and arm sliding from black strands, falling limp to his side and curling against the smooth tile, unable to find purchase. Maybe it’s the way Aymeric’s own cock stirs again, still exposed whilst the man himself remains half dressed. Maybe, and he’s  _ sure _ on this one, it’s the way the Lord Commander licks his lips, pink tongue swiping along swollen flesh, chasing the taste of the sweat and spit that now decorates Z’ahzi’s body.

The halo of light from before catches on the gem dangling from his ear, translucent rays now caught in faded gold and turquoise. It sends dappled, shattered facets across Z’ahzi’s skin, triangular and diamond shaped reflections dancing with the sway of the chain. Aymeric breathes in sharply, and while the man beneath him struggles to keep eyes open, lids heavy and drooped, it was obvious that Aymeric was  _ holding back. _

“Aymeric,” Z’ahzi repeats, legs spreading as far as they could, highlighting the mess sticking to the inside of his thighs. Another sharp breath, the creak of fabric as the other’s hands curl tightly into fists. The Miqo’te arches his back, thrusting his hips upwards while his hand reaches out, grasping towards the Elezen in a silent plea for more. “Come here.”

A lazy blink and his wrist is caught in a gentle, reverent grip. It’s tender, thumb tracing the pulse of his vein once, twice, before Aymeric begins to lean forwards. It’s as if Aymeric himself were wanting to build tension - though Z’ahzi highly doubts it’s  _ needed _ \- and he almost says as much, lips parting to whine only for the sound to die there, swallowed down on a wet half-gasp, hiccuping instead as his wrist is slowly, lovingly, placed against the tile floor, Aymeric now once again leaning over his naked body.

“Aymeric?” this time it’s said on a sigh, the exhale shaky and breathy and weak. 

“You,” he answers, grip sure and tight around his wrist as his free hand settles on Z’ahzi’s hip, sliding soon thereafter down his thigh and back again, his strong palm cupping the swell of muscle and squeezing appreciatively. “Are so beautiful.”   
  
Heart stutters in chest, dark lashes nearly touching his cheeks in a moment of tenderness. “I could say the same about you.”   
  
“No,” the other starts, the hand on his thigh now digging in rougher, harder, tilting him closer and half into his lap, cocks touching in the faintest graze possible. “I’m not nearly as reverent as you.”

Z’ahzi protests, but lips are stolen in a hot, easy kiss. It’s effortless and slow, muffled hums echoing from the both of them as tongues slide together. Z’ahzi takes his time, eyes closing fully now as lips move, tongue sliding against the top of Aymeric’s mouth. The Elezen chuckles at the playfulness, pausing only a moment to give his lover a second of a breath before delving back in, pulling Z’ahzi’s retreating tongue back into his own mouth, moaning hot and wet as the kiss ends with a thick, watery  _ smack. _

“My Knight,” Aymeric rumbles against his raw lips, voice ilms darker than before and so unlike the put-together Commander. “My Saint,” he breathes, hips grinding their cocks together. Z’ahzi moans, voice tapering off as throat stings, head tilting back once more and trapped hand curling fingers inwards, submitting. “You have no idea the things I have wanted to do to you since the moment I saw you.”

Cock jumps, the fire in his belly now spreading to his legs, his chest. 

“You are worthy of every worship imaginable, be it lips,” Aymeric presses a quick kiss to his cheek, the strands of his hair falling just below as he moves. “Teeth,” a nip to his jaw, nose tracing the column of his throat further and further down. “Or tongue.” The flat of his tongue drags across sweaty collar, exaggerated and slow. Z’ahzi still can’t look, bottom lip now firmly between his teeth. A dark chuckle echoes around him, the velvet sound rocketing straight to his cock. Aymeric has never sounded quite like this before, and the thrill of finally breaking through to him sets the Miqo’te’s blood on fire. “Divine as you are, you will not leave these halls unsatisfied nor empty. That much I can promise you.”   
  
“Then do it,” Z’ahzi gasps impatiently, legs wrapping around the armor-clad waist of his Commander. “Show your  _ God _ s how divine I really am.”

A growl, both of Aymeric’s hands growing bruising in strength. “ _ Gods above, _ you’ll be the death of me.”   
  
_ No _ , Z’ahzi thinks as the Elezen swipes at the precome littered across his abdomen, rubbing it between pale and elegant fingers.  _ Think of it more as rebirth. _

At the first press of his fingers, the Miqo’te stops breathing, brows pulled down and lips forming into a grimace. It’s not nearly as slick as it should be, the slide broken here and there. Aymeric agrees, it seems, letting his fingers press in once, twice, then out again, wrapping around their cocks to gather up more of the fluid there.  _ Fuck, _ it’s hot, watching the Commander use his own pre to open him up, impatient to fulfill his role as servant to his Most Holy. They repeat that cycle a few more times, each press of Aymeric’s fingers going deeper than before. It’s agony, Z’ahzi being strung along a thin wire of pleasure, teeth grit to stifle the hiss upon entrance and the mournful sigh as it leaves. 

It’s rough, far rougher than Z’ahzi would have liked, but Aymeric’s touch still ignites sparks to flare in his abdomen, still has his head thrashing and cock spilling in the dips of his abs. His thighs strain even as hips roll to press back, silently asking for it deeper, harder,  _ more, more, more! _ Anything to quell the ache inside him, growing larger with each lingering press, each exploratory stretch of his walls. It isn’t enough, and within the span of what feels like an eternity, Z’ahzi breaks, crying out a desperate wail of “Enough!”   
  
Aymeric’s fingers settle inside him, knuckles deep. It sends cock throbbing, a whimper or two falling from lax lips. Beige eyes barely see through their slits as thin as they are, cock throbbing in time with his heartbeat currently erratic in his chest. Aymeric chuckles again, raspy, before removing his fingers slowly, Z’ahzi’s walls trying desperately to keep him _ in. _ “Please,” the Miqo’te adds, ears flattened against his head. “I don’t need all that.”   
  
“You do,” Aymeric replies, his messy and slick hand reaching towards the side of his regalia. “If you’re going to be taking me.”   
  
The Elezen smirks, hand lifting a small vial in front of his face. “Oil,” he supplies, letting the word sit heavy on his tongue. “Just enough for what I had planned for you.”   
  
_ Planned? _ Surely, Z’ahzi letting him fuck his face was what they had  _ planned, _ albeit the details vague and loose. The sacrament, the ritual, all of it planned to culminate in  _ this. _ And Aymeric was waiting for his chance.

He truly is devout. 

The stopper is ripped from the vial with hungry teeth, oil tipped gracelessly into palm, the excess dripping to Z’ahzi’s cock. It’s cold and the blonde makes it known, hissing as body grows taut at the feeling. Aymeric coos, using his slick hand to coat his cock, stroking a few times to make sure the oil he’s kept makes good on its use. Once he seems satisfied enough, Z’ahzi watches as his lover grabs hold of the base of his cock, the blunt head of it pausing at his entrance.

_ Breathe, Ahzi, breathe. _

Aymeric’s other hand, the one still trapping the Miqo’te to the floor, squeezes in reassurance - once, twice, before he’s sliding inside, the stretch burning and nigh unbearable. It feels like it never ends, body jolting and shaking violently against the cathedral tiles, Aymeric himself huffing out bitten off cries of  _ Z’ahzi _ and  _ Gods _ and  _ perfect. _

A roll of his hips and Z’ahzi cries until his voice dies out, only a shrill whine left in its wake. It’s just a little more, the Commander taking his time to thrust in gently, so gently, testing the waters and give of the other’s body. He’s  _ tight _ , walls clinging to the hard cock inside him, and Gods only know how Aymeric is able to restrain himself against the urge to snap his hips and bury himself to the hilt.

A kiss, haphazardly given and more breathing into each other’s mouths than kissing, Z’ahzi thinks. His free hand, the one not currently held against the floor, reaches to wrap around the base of his cock, the low-simmering heat from earlier now blistering in the wake of finally having the other man inside him. The tension only builds as Aymeric bottoms out, the last few inches of his cock disappearing inside the Miqo’te with one, long moan.

“You cannot be real,” Aymeric pants against his mouth, Z’ahzi writhing in place. “You feel ... otherworldly.”   
  
_ I am,  _ he thinks, clenching tight around the other’s cock just to feel his grip turn bruising, to hear the creak of fabric and bone and see the restraint in the other’s shoulders.  _ Worship me. _

Aymeric wastes no time, pulling out only to push right back in, stuttering on a breath and swallowing down a choking cry. His composure is sullied by the raggedness of his hair, the mess of precome that now clings to his armor, his skin, the sweat there beading across his temple. The pale flush has turned crimson, trailing down from cheeks to neck and hides beneath the chestplate Z’ahzi wishes he had taken off. Yet, when gaze is stolen by the nearly-faded light, watching as the last rays of daytime glint off of the gold and silver of Aymeric’s armor, highlighting the way his swollen lips part around gasps of  _ his _ name, the blatant abandon in his hurried nature, Z’ahzi thinks he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Messy, raw, and full of emotion. Aymeric seems to share the same thought, face burying itself in the crook of the Miqo’te’s neck as pace grows faster, harder. The Elezen’s cock feels heavenly against his walls, filling up all the empty space and pushing him past his limits. It feels divine, brushing against that bundle of nerves that has his cock spewing out more and more pre, his lower half soaked in it. It feels too much, really, too good. And as Z’ahzi lays like this, strewn about like an offering for a god, throat manages to croak out a single word.   
  
“ _ More. _ ”

Aymeric  _ snarls, _ this broken and dangerous thing, showcasing the beast he’s been keeping locked away. The plea breaks his chains, hips snapping forward without pause over and over again, the sound of his armor clinking loudly in the vaulted halls. Z’ahzi keens, the sound faint as his overworked throat gives up on trying to continue, heat and pressure building inside his abdomen. The hand he had used to stave it off quickly becomes useless, and as Z’ahzi becomes a feast for the devoured, orgasm rising sharply, Aymeric growls next to his ear.

“Come for me. Let them see how you  _desecrate_ me.”

He has never seen so much white in his life.

His vision dances as hands brace themselves, one pulling Aymeric’s head closer, close, closer to his sweat-slicked and bruised body, the other flexing uncontrollably in the vice-like grip his Commander uses against him. Z’ahzi shakes through it, silent sans the pitiful, pathetic wheezes he desperately tries to wring out. With every thrust Aymeric continues to give, his cock pulses through another wave of his orgasm, cum falling in thick lines across his chest, splattering against his thighs as it jumps again and again. He’s a mess, coated in oil and cum and spit and bruises. Yet Z’ahzi pushes back, grinding himself and squeezing around the other’s cock, pleading in broken whimpers he hopes Aymeric can understand.

_ Mark me, _ he says, arms shaking.  _ Make me yours. _

The hairpin lies discarded and off to the side. Z’ahzi wishes he were still wearing it.

Aymeric finishes with a pitched groan, a gasp cutting it off before falling into a whine of contentment, the Miqo’te beneath him mewling in exhaustion as his body greedily, readily accepts the ropes of cum. The sunlight dies behind them, replaced by a purple-black dusk as they recover, still joined despite both of them going soft.

A gentle kiss draws Z’ahzi out of his daze, lips pressed to the underside of his jaw, his cheek, and finally his mouth. No words are passed between them, just soft and tender butterfly kisses and hands massaging a bruised wrist. Fingers rub feeling back into it, Z’ahzi too preoccupied with the feeling of Aymeric  _ pulling out _ to be disgusted at the mix of oil and cum now staining the skin of his wrist.

It doesn’t matter. Not when Aymeric groans, eyes downcast and staring unabashedly at the mess he left behind.

“What a sight you make,” he starts, hands fluttering above the skin of his thighs. “I could never have asked for a more capable Knight.”

_ No, _ Z’ahzi thinks, feeling the warm touch of Aymeric’s coat wrap around him. _ You couldn’t. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEHEHE y'all's comments really made me wanna get this out for you. this may be it for this fic setting, but i may write more ahzi/aymeric in the future. 
> 
> follow me on twitter @aethertorn for more fics, xiv talk, etc.
> 
> if you'd like to support me, buy me a coffee here! https://ko-fi.com/aethertorn
> 
> and, as always, comments & kudos appreciated! i love seeing what you guys liked!
> 
> thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sitting in my drafts since i did heavensward and i was too chicken to post it but now i've decided the time is Now please enjoy. it's old and possibly not the best but it's enough for me!
> 
> i might make the second chapter if i get enough encouragement. the one where z'ahzi gets his reward :eyes:
> 
> if you'd like to support me, you can do so with my tip-jar that can be found on my twitter!
> 
> follow me on twitter @valistheas for more xiv talk, fics, etc
> 
> and as always, comments and kudos appreciated greatly!


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